A True Redhead

Often my brother and I would hop onto our bicycles and ride to our friend’s house about half of a mile away. He and his brothers would join us and we would take to the shaded lanes and abandoned fields near their home. The one area where would ride was an abandoned campground, the one that Les and I encountered the Boy Scout troop in his old car.

The roads ran through wooded areas and through large and small open areas of the campground. Some were large open meadows, where our families would pick wild full-flavored strawberries and by quiet little niches that would hold a tent or a small Scotty trailer. The camp had been abandoned, but people still came in to use the campsites.

Sometimes we would ride to the old camp to swim in the stream that had been dammed up and other times we rode for the joy of feeling the wind in our hair. It almost seemed like a paradise to us kids. We had the freedom to ride long distances without the fear of traffic. If we got warm, we rode in the shaded areas.

This particular morning, was sunny and cool, the perfect weather for riding our bicycles. It was cool enough to ride in jeans and a polo shirt without overheating when pedaling furiously. Here and there, wisps of fog curled in low lying areas of the road and the campsites.

It was a time of freedom. We were riding for the sheer joy of it, feeling the cool air rush by and through our hair. The morning was filled with the aroma of honeysuckles and wood smoke. There had to be campers about.

Tucked tightly in a small campsite was an older Scotty trailer. It was turquoise and white. Coiled around its bottom was a large bank of fog, reaching about thirty inches high.  The door to the trailer was open and framed in the dark doorway was an alabaster skinned, statuesque woman. She was sky clad…absolutely naked… not wearing a stitch of clothing. It was as though Aphrodite herself was standing there. With the tendrils of lingering fog swirling below her feet, it seemed as though she was standing on a cloud.

Her skin shone as translucent as milk glass. She had wide hips, a narrow waist, and breasts the size of small grapefruit. She was “Venus on the Half Shell” alive and living here in rural Pennsylvania. It was a titillating moment for us boys.

We stopped our ride just out of sight. We weren’t sure what to do, but the only road leading back out would take us back by the Scotty. We decided to make ride back, but we were disappointed. The door was still hanging open, but empty. The one thing that I can say for sure was this woman was definitely a red head.